


slip grip

by deniigiq



Series: Into the Multiverse [20]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Anxiety, Blondie is trying to find himself as a twice mutated person, Complicated Relationships, Confusion, Existential Angst, Introspection, M/M, Multi, Mutation, Polyamorous Character, Team Red, he's having a hell of a time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: 72 hours.72 hours he could spend in the world he’d been born in.That was the longest he could go before things started to get a little hazy. And he started to feel sleepy and heavy and like he couldn’t lift his limbs.(Blondie searches for connection in a twice-mutated body. He tries to find himself in others and ends up finding himself in the fabric of the multiverse.)
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Peter Parker, Miles Morales & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker & the Multiverse, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Series: Into the Multiverse [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1348219
Comments: 10
Kudos: 334





	slip grip

**Author's Note:**

> I would very strongly recommend reading **under fire** in this series to understand what is going on here. This piece is a continuation of **oceans and skies** but from Blondie's perspective.
> 
> Peter = Peter Parker (RiPeter from ISTV) = Blondie  
> Blue = Deadpool in Blondie and ITSV Miles's verse

The In-between felt like water. Like sinking down into a warm, enveloping space where sound distorted and the rules of light and size and distance didn’t matter anymore.

Before he’d gotten used to it, sinking down had felt like drowning—like there was pressure on his lungs—like he was falling with no way of knowing which way was up.

He’d panicked.

It had been endless. There was no getting out of it once he’d fallen in.

The surface got further and further away with each passing second and his fingers closed slower and slower around nothing but bubbles and that weird, swirling lurch in his ears.

Now, he felt like he was gasping on dry land.

72 hours.

72 hours he could spend in the world he’d been born in.

That was the longest he could go before things started to get a little hazy. And he started to feel sleepy and heavy and like he couldn’t lift his limbs.

MJ told him that she’d found him on the floor twice so far.

She’d had to call the Avengers because no hospital could help him.

Peter knew that he’d die from this one day. He knew it because each waking left a feeling of longing in his chest.

No, he wanted to say as he cracked his eyes open to dark tinted water barely hiding the florescent sun of Dr. Banner’s lab.

No. He wanted to stay asleep. He wanted to sink.

It felt right to sink.

Ironman made a device. It was a pager of sorts. It was flat like a piece of white leather and it wrapped around his wrist and monitored his vitals. If they dropped, as they did when he started sinking, an alert would be sent to the nearest Avenger, and they’d come check on him or help him get somewhere safe to crash.

He didn’t even realize sometimes that he was dropping.

One step things were fine, the next they were buckling.

And then the next he found thick muscle catching him. Cold metal. Sticky leather. They all had their various outfits. Peter had jolted awake in Bucky Barnes’s panicking grip just as he’d woken up with the Widow’s fingers digging bruises into his arms.

Hawkeye had hauled him up off a curb corner, surrounded by a group of terrified kids and parents. Ironman had caught him in the middle of a planning meeting.

The thing about the falling was—well, there were two things about the falling. Firstly, he liked it. He craved it. MJ was terrified of him in those moments.

She said his skin went paler. Everything went paler, actually. Lips, ears, eyes, hair.

His fingertips lost feeling, she said, even though he knew that he could feel them. They kind of tingled in the dark. He knew exactly where they were and how they bent and clawed and stretched.

But MJ said that when she held his hands, post-fall, they were freezing cold and he didn’t seem to notice her body heat or the pressure she forced into his skin and bones.

She said he felt dead and when he opened his eyes after that long, seemingly endless moment for the both of them, she said that they were something…inhuman.

His pupils retreated into pinpricks. The In-Between’s gushing, rushing galaxies and oceans heaved in his irises. They glowed at night. They shimmered in the day. They were constantly moving, like fine, iridescent glitter swirling around a glass.

They scared her.

They weren’t the eyes she’d married.

Peter wasn’t the man that she’d married.

He was something else now, even if he was the same someone.

MJ said through tears that all she’d ever wanted was him back and she couldn’t ask for any more than what she’d already gotten, but she was scared of him. For him. Of touching his cold, empty, yearning skin. Or waking up one day and hearing the quiet beeping of the leather pager in the early morning, with no knowing of just how long past their ritual 72 hours it had been and if Peter was laying next to her or if that shape was just an extension of the multiverse.

She didn’t like to look into his swirling eyes when he came back home. She pretended otherwise. She tried to smile at him, but she just looked seasick.

That was the first thing about the falling.

The second thing about the falling was that being around Miles stopped it from happening.

The multiverse loved a Spiderman. They were breadcrumbs threaded onto a piece of string so thin and delicate it might have been spider silk.

The multiverse bloomed around Spidermen.

Peter bloomed around them.

With Miles, things were more stable. They felt real. Solid. Peter could be silly and snarky again. The ache and craving for warm depths faded off.

Miles seemed to know instinctively. More and more every day.

It should have been shameful to want to spend so much time around a kid barely old enough for middle school.

Should have been gut-wrenching.

Pathetic.

But it wasn’t.

Peter was twice-mutated now. He was more spider and multiverse than he felt human sometimes. Things felt different. His body wanted different things. Everyone knew who he was and what he could do as Spiderman—but this?

These sensations?

The drop. The drown. The fall.

Those were his.

No one could take them from him. They _were_ him now. He would become them. They would become him. He could feel it in the ebb and flow of the tide sloshing under his skin.

He gave into it.

Fuck everyone else.

Fuck the Avengers.

Fuck the fans.

Fuck the public and the court and SHIELD and the whole lot of them.

Fuck MJ’s disappointment. May’s uncalled-for gentleness.

He _was_ a stone of the multiverse. A wave crashing with cousins, sisters, brothers, on the face of a pool cupped in the hand of a never-ending, unknowable mother made out of space, dark, sparks, and stars.

Miles heard him purring to the sound of the multiverse and laughed at him and told him that he was ‘vibing.’

Miles told him that he didn’t have to listen to the Avengers or SHIELD or any of those folks because they were a team.

Miles was his leader now.

Miles was his Spiderman.

A multiverse _needed_ its Spiderman.

Peter would serve his Spiderman.

Miles didn’t know it was like that. He was too young, the thought would freak him out. But it wasn’t like that.

Peter fought through the multiverse every 72 hours. Those hours didn’t pass in their own verse like they did in the multiverse. Each verse kept its own time. 72 hours at home could be weeks in another universe. Could be seconds.

Sometimes, in this verse, in the time between him falling and waking up, he’d have jumped to another verse, fought a fuckin’ dragon or whatever, saved the city, high-fived the Spiderman there, and hopped right back.

It was wild.

And all he did was lead, lead, _lead_.

Everywhere he went, he was the hero.

He was backup.

He was the secret weapon.

He just—

He just wanted to follow.

All he wanted to do was follow.

He just wanted--he just wanted--

To listen. For once. To stop hearing and just. Listen.

Miles gave this to him.

He was young. He was bright. He burned white and blue and red in tiny flecks and glitters. He was of Peter’s home, but he’d touched the multiverse.

The ring he sent into the multiverse resonated with the one Peter sent.

Peter had never felt the urge to follow—support—guide—push—help, help, _help_ stronger than he did when he was stood behind this kid.

He wanted so badly to follow.

Miles sometimes noticed him trying to make the anxious throbbing of his heart match the pulse of the multiverse in his wrists and came over to give him a hug.

The quiet it brought shattered his senses.

Twice mutated.

Tied with spider silk to this boy.

The guilt was insurmountable.

But Peter wasn’t human anymore.

Guilt was for humans.

He swallowed it back. Swallowed hard. Blinked away tears and let the tide take him.

Miles asked him if he was okay when he caught him up high, letting the tide drip down onto the city below like salty raindrops.

He was.

He was just.

Longing.

For Ben. For drowning. For everything to go back to right before it all happened.

There was no going back, though. The multiverse had already offered, but things were different now. Peter couldn’t just go kill some other Peter in another universe and take over his life.

His own MJ was aching.

His own May was worrying.

His friends—his family—they needed him to be solid again. To touch his shoulder and ruffle his hair. To know that sometimes even the impossible was possible.

This universe needed him. As a figure.

At least until Miles was tall enough to take over that silhouette.

So he’d wait.

And he’d follow.

And he’d listen for the beeping. And when he slept, he’d burrow in deep and take in as much water as he could before waking up on dry land once again.

Matt told him he was being a dramatic piece of shit and there was only room for one of them in this town.

Peter laughed so hard he kissed him and it was a long moment before they both broke apart in horror.

“I’m sorry,” Peter stammered. “I didn’t mean it—that was out of line—”

“Shut up,” Matt sighed. “Just shut. Up.”

Right.

“Fuck,” Matt said through gritted teeth and fingers buried in his hair.

Peter hugged his knees and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fuck,” Matt said again.

“Why is this so hard?” Peter groaned into his knees.

“FUCK.”

Yeah. Pretty much.

“We just gotta—we just gotta—” Matt tried to say.

Peter dropped his head forward.

“I’m trying,” he sighed.

“I know,” Matt said. “I know—I’m trying, too. But it’s not fair to—”

Peter _knew_ , alright? He knew it was unfair to MJ and Foggy. Always had been. They both deserved better.

“It won’t happen again,” he said to his shins.

Matt smeared a hand across his face.

“We say that every time,” he said. “Every time. ‘It won’t happen again. It’ll never happen again.’ What are we even doing, Peter?”

If he knew, they wouldn’t be here, pal.

Matt pressed the heels of his palms against his scarred eye sockets and knocked his helmet up as he did.

He was so.

So.

Adorable.

Lovely.

Strong.

Sweet.

Goofy.

Shy.

Everything that Peter had ever wanted from someone.

He knew Matt felt the same.

Two hearts calling to each other. A spider and a devil. Sitting on the dock of the bay.

Fuck. They were fucked.

“How’s Blue?” Peter mumbled into his thighs.

“Shut up,” Matt snapped.

Right. Sure. Of course.

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

“What part of ‘shut up’ is challenging for you?”

Right. Of course. That was his bad.

“Oh my god.”

It was not appropriate to giggle. That wasn’t getting them anywhere. Things were shitty and getting shittier.

“Listen,” Matt said when they were done being stupid, idiot children. He cleared his throat so that his smile hid better.

“I’m listening,” Peter told him.

“We can’t,” Matt said.

Yeah. He knew.

“I love you,” Matt admitted with painful, _painful_ honesty. “You know I love you. I love you so fucking much it kills me.”

“Like Elektra,” Peter said.

Matt’s shoulders dropped and he turned away slightly.

“Foggy says he thinks he might feel something more for me,” he said.

Peter knew. Anyone who looked at Fogs could see the realization spreading across his face, engulfing him more and more with every glance towards Matt and his puppyish smile and bright, chaotic energy.

“I love MJ, too,” Peter said.

He would do anything for her. At the drop of a hat. Without thinking, without blinking. This, he knew like his own heart’s drum.

“We gotta give ourselves a shot,” Matt said. “We can’t ruin our own lives forever.”

Hm.

“So stop fucking Blue,” Peter offered.

Matt punched him in the shoulder.

“ _Blue_ knows how to shut up,” he pointed out viciously.

“I know how to shut up,” Peter defended. “I’m just bad at it. It’s different.”

Matt punched him again.

“Stop flirting with me,” he sniffed.

“I’m not trying to?” Peter said.

“Well, you’re doing it anyways,” Matt huffed.

“Well, I can’t help it then,” Peter said.

A silence fell between them.

“Fuck, we’re fucked,” Matt groaned.

“No, we’re absolutely fucked,” Peter agreed. “How do we un-fuck ourselves. Should we ask Johnny?”

Matt sneered.

“Johnny broke my arm after you died,” he said bitterly.

Peter’s heart froze in his chest. Even the multiverse’s embrace couldn’t soak through it.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Matt didn’t want him to see his face. He hid it and scratched at his cheek.

“It hurt,” he admitted.

“Matt, what did you say,” Peter demanded.

Matt didn’t want to say it again. His heart was bleeding just from remembering.

Peter got up. Matt scrambled up and grabbed him to pull him back down.

“He was just angry, Pete,” he said. “It’s a normal grief reaction.”

Fuck that.

Hell no.

Johnny knew better.

“What did he say to you?” he asked Matt without moving an inch.

“Nothing,” Matt said too hurriedly.

A lie.

Johnny thought that Matt was ruining Peter and MJ’s relationship. He thought he was being a tease and a flirt and ruining Peter’s chance at something good and stable.

Johnny had suffered through Peter’s endless bullshit just like Peter had suffered his. He was protective of Peter’s happiness like that.

Honestly? He was a good fucking friend. But he still was out of line, approaching Matt in a moment of stress and making him feel like he was somehow at fault.

Because Peter got it now.

Matt blamed himself for everything. His skin was only thick when it came to fists and blades.

Words hurt him. Made him double back and question everything he did. He’d jog himself breathless trying to keep up with his ping-ponging thoughts about ‘what if I’d done something different? What if I’ve done something wrong? What if this is my fault?’

He didn’t need help hating himself.

His fingers dug into Peter’s forearm.

“Which arm was it?” Peter asked him in a voice that was toneless even to his own ears.

“He’s right,” Matt said, not bothering with an answer to Peter’s question. “I’m—I’m—we’re not—”

It didn’t matter if Johnny was right or wrong.

There were lines that were not to be crossed.

“Peter?”

He didn’t hate Johnny. He could never hate Johnny. But they clearly needed to talk.

“Pete? What’s—what’s happening to you?”

Peter blinked back to cold air, startled.

Matt’s hand had left his arm. He’d pulled it tight against his chest. The red, translucent eyes of his helmet searched for Peter’s face.

Christ. And now this bullshit.

Peter forced himself to drop his shoulders and sit back down.

“Johnny doesn’t know everything about me,” he said.

Matt stayed recoiled from him.

That sucked.

“I don’t feel so hot,” Matt mumbled. “I think I’m going to go home.”

More than fair.

Peter watched him edge up carefully. Watched him dust himself off and take a few steps back, nervous to show Peter his spine.

Peter sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

The multiverse didn’t want or need Matt. Or MJ. Or Johnny or even that asshole Deadpool.

It didn’t care about how it made Peter scare his friends and family.

It wasn’t its fault. The multiverse didn’t have friends and family. Peter didn’t blame it for not knowing how to cope with that messiness.

“Peter?”

He blinked in surprise and looked up. Matt watched him in that way of his; face slightly too far left this time.

“I’m okay,” Peter told him.

“I know,” Matt said. “I just—I love you a lot, okay? You’re not Elektra.”

And then he was gone.

That was enough honesty for him for a whole year.

Peter’s teeth went sour.

He hated himself for the heat in his chest. For the bloom of warmth at those words.

He wasn’t Elektra, Matt said.

He didn’t want to avoid him, he meant. He loved him and trusted him and didn’t think he was bad for him despite all that.

Fuck.

FUCK.

God.

DAMNIT.

DP was a menace and an asshole and Peter had decided that nothing he could do short of making an honest man out of dear Matthew and marrying the guy on the spot would make him feel anything different towards the man.

But needs must sometimes.

“Unusual,” DP noted coolly his way when Peter found his way across the upper west side’s rooftops to his nest of ammunition and guns for the night.

Peter drew back his shoulders.

DP watched him and stayed as still as could be.

It was infuriating.

Peter had met loads of other Deadpools by that point. They were all, in the kindest possible terms, bags of delirious and violent cats.

Except this guy.

Cool as a cucumber. Calm as blue.

Calmer by far than the ocean of galaxies Peter’s skin contained these days.

“Teach me to be calm,” he said.

DP’s mask twitched a little with the raise of his brow. He said nothing. He never said much. He was impenetrable. Infuriating. A block of muscle that Matt somehow found solace and comfort in.

Peter breathed out.

“I want to learn,” he forced himself to say. “I’m always angry or depressed or scared.”

DP watched him, still wordless.

“Everyone is,” he said after what felt like an eon.

“Time doesn’t run for me like it runs for everyone else,” Peter said. “It doesn’t run for you that way either, I know that. I want to learn to make it work for me. You make things work for you. Teach me how. I’m tired of people knowing what I’m feeling. I want to learn to control it and get past all this uncertainty.”

DP waited. Then, to Peter’s surprise, he shifted over to the right and patted the space next to him in his canvas nest.

“Come,” he said.

Peter blinked and frowned.

“Lay down,” DP said.

“I don’t—”

“Lay. Down,” DP ordered this time. His voice was deep and came from the back of his throat.

Peter’s back stiffened without his permission, but he forced himself to bend joints until his belly met black canvas.

“I’m down,” he said.

“Great. Now shut the fuck up,” DP said. “We’ll start with getting used to the silence.”

Peter choked back the urge to grumble about how that wasn’t helpful. He was already used to silence. The In-between was nothing but wordlessness.

“Atta boy,” DP said after a moment, in a voice that sounded oddly like he was smirking. That was a first. “Let’s keep that up for the next half hour. Whaddya say, kid? You think you can do it?”

Did Peter think he could do it?

What the fuck, duh.

Of course he could shut up for thirty minutes. What the hell was with the kid gloves?

“Patience, padawan,” DP hummed, peering through his scope. “All things come to those who wait.”

He didn’t tell MJ he was taking lessons from Deadpool.

He didn’t tell Matt that he’d had a fight with Johnny.

He didn’t tell Johnny that he was right and he and Matt were sabotaging their relationships and happiness.

He didn’t tell Miles that he wanted to follow him around like a touch-starved cat.

He didn’t tell a lot of people a lot of things.

He didn’t have to.

The thought was so liberating that it shattered the black glass holding in the galaxies in his chest.

The flow of the In-between from its confines made him want to whoop into the night. To swing higher and drop lower. To fly. To fall. To leap and crash and roll and laugh.

He felt more like himself than he had in months.

The one.

The only.

In this, truly the only.

Peter Parker.


End file.
